Black fine line arrow tattoo with a triangle and circle in the arrowhead, on the side of the ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Arrow with triangle and circle on ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A single black arrow runs horizontally across the side of the torso, with three short feather strokes at the tail and a triangular head. Inside the head sits a circle and a vertical line, all drawn in uniform thin strokes. The ink is solid black on pale skin, with a grey fabric edge and a marble-effect background in the frame.

Fine line Geometric Ribs Arrow Triangle Circle Line Geometric symbol

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer to the range, the pair of you, and mind the cat, she's had her eye on your crusts since supper. Right. This was the winter of the big frost, when the ditches froze to glass and your great-uncle Ned was nineteen and daft as a gatepost. He had a bow his father made from ash that had been drying in the rafters since harvest, and he was forever shooting at the crows on the north field and missing them by a mile.

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One January morning the fox got into the hen house and took the speckled bantam, and Ned swore he'd put one through the thief if it came back. So he went out in the dark with his arrows, three goose-quill feathers each, bound with waxed thread. The heads he'd cut from an old tin lid and folded to a point, and into each point he scratched a ring with a line through it, because his mother always said a thing marked true would fly true. He never did get the fox.

What he got instead was the lane. The frost had come down so hard the puddles were mirrors, and the moon hung right over the pump, and there was the fox, sat on the stile, bold as brass, watching him. Ned drew. The arrow went wide, clean past the ear, and buried itself in the iron ring of the pump with a note like a struck bell. The fox looked at him a long while, then trotted off up the lane, and if you believe Ned, it was laughing.

When they pulled that pump out for the new road, the arrow was still stuck fast in the wood. Ned worked it free and gave it to me, and it's on my mantel now beside the clock, tin head gone green at the edges, and not once in sixty years has it been anything but dry.